Late Friday night, Shibuya had settled into sleep. But deep within the network, countless screams were flying back and forth even now. Beyond the screen. At the bottom of the sea of data, there was a space no one could see. Asakura Shinji was there. It was quiet. The study in this virtual space took the form of an old Japanese-style room. The feel of tatami mats. Pale light filtering through the *shoji* screens. But there was no wind. No sound, no scent, no temperature. Just a false stillness, made to look that way. Shinji sat. A three-piece suit, solid black. At his collar, a silver pin shaped like an inverted moon. His short hair, reaching his shoulders, glowed faintly like moonlight. His eyes had no pupils. They simply shone silver. The fingertips of his right hand trembled faintly. They had not stopped — not once, not ever — since that day three years ago, when he had nearly died inside the collapsing *Yorudonoou*. "……Noisy." Before him, countless small windows were open. The consultation portal for *Yomigaeri.net*. Hundreds of posts had been submitted there. *I want to die.* *I want to disappear.* *No one sees me.* *My company is going under. I can't support my family.* *My mother's illness won't get better.* Words of despair, one after another. Shinji sifted through them at high speed. Searching, analyzing, quantifying. (*This man is useless. His wish is weak. He'll give up in three days.*) (*This woman is useless too. She only leans on others; she won't act herself.*) He murmured. "Humanity, if not guided, will destroy itself." That was what he had always believed. Founding *Amenomatsuri Inc.*, developing the cognitive manipulation technology — all of it was for that purpose. But that band of phantom thieves had smashed it all to pieces. The trembling in Shinji's fingers grew stronger. (*This time. This time for sure.*) His hand stopped on one post. *My shop… it's finished. I tried so hard, but no one comes. I think I'll close it down tomorrow.* The poster was the owner of a small café in Shibuya. Hoshino Mayu. Shinji's lips twisted, just slightly. His eyes did not smile. "I'll choose you." He snapped his fingers. A quiet sound echoed through the false Japanese room. *Tsukinomiya*. The invitation code for that app, still unknown to anyone, flowed out into the night network. Toward its first test subject. ――― Eight minutes on foot from Shibuya Station. Kouga Alley was a district crammed tight with old buildings. Quiet during the day, it grew slightly more crowded at night. Café Lunatica sat in one corner of it. Eighteen seats. Coffee at 450 yen a cup. It wasn't beautiful, and it wasn't stylish. But it was a place where you could breathe. Hoshino Mayu sat slumped in a chair at the counter. She was thirty-two. Her dark chestnut hair was tied back in a single bunch. Once glossy, it was now dry and lifeless. Her large brown eyes used to narrow into crescent moons when she smiled. Now they just stared, wide open. The paper clutched in her hand rustled dryly. This month's debt statement. "……There's no way I can pay this back." Her voice was hoarse. She had started this shop five years ago. She liked coffee, and she simply wanted to create a place where someone could belong. So she often gave rice balls or soup to customers who were short on money — on the house. Lonely people, people living on the fringes of society — she couldn't bring herself to ignore them. But kindness alone couldn't keep a shop running. Sales dropped, and the debt grew. Friends, savings — nothing was left. She looked out the window. The orange of the streetlights illuminated the damp asphalt. (*What was I even doing?*) (*For everyone else, I said. I never thought about myself at all.*) It was no one's fault. It was all her own doing. That was when it happened. Her smartphone gave a little *ping*. She looked at the screen. A pop-up she had never seen before was displayed there. *We will grant your wish.* "……What is this?" She thought it was some strange ad. Spam, or a scam. But her finger moved on its own. She tapped it. What appeared was a pitch-black screen with nothing but a single input box. *Please enter your wish.* She stared at it blankly for a while. A wish, huh. She was tired. Of everything. Slowly, she typed the words. It was almost out of spite. *I want my shop to thrive.* The moment she finished typing, the smartphone screen glowed a pale blue. A cold light, like moonlight. Startled, she nearly dropped it. The light didn't stop there. The air in the café suddenly grew cold. From the kitchen came small sounds — *crack*, *crack*. Fine fissures ran along the walls. She almost screamed. Because her own shadow, for an instant, turned upside down. "Wh-what…?" Her heart pounded violently. A cold sweat ran down her back. Something was wrong. Definitely wrong. With trembling fingers, she operated her smartphone. She had to delete this app. But the uninstall button was nowhere to be found. She couldn't erase it. "No way… why…?" The terror spread slowly, steadily. But alongside it, another voice echoed inside her head. (*But… will my wish come true?*) (*If it really does thrive…?*) That thought was what frightened her most. ――― In his study deep within the network, Shinji watched the monitor. A three-dimensional graph was climbing rapidly. Proof that the cognitive distortion value was rising. "……It worked." There was no joy in his voice. Only confirmation. *Negaiba Sakasanoniwa*. Mayu's wish was beginning to encroach upon reality. From beneath Café Lunatica, a new otherworld was being born. Shinji stood up. In a picture frame hung in the corner of the room was an old photograph. A photo of Amatsukaze Tower, now a ruin. Once, his castle. "Phantom thieves… you believe you have defeated me." He spoke while looking at the photo. "But humanity will err again. They will wish, suffer, and distort. Each time, I will be needed." His eyes simply shone silver, coldly. "This time, I will establish the correct order." Hoshino Mayu was merely a test subject in his plan. Whether she suffered from here on, whatever became of her — it was a necessary cost. To Shinji, this was not revenge. It was guiding lost sheep to their proper place. That was his twisted sense of mission. ――― Saturday morning. Mayu woke to the sound outside her shop. A murmur, a buzz. Voices, as if a crowd had gathered. It was still two hours before opening. She sluggishly got up and opened the curtain a crack. And her breath stopped. People were lined up in front of the shop. Ten? No, more than that. Over twenty people. All of them were smiling. Beaming, grinning — so much it was unsettling. "……What is this?" She stumbled toward the door. Unlocked it. In that instant, the customers surged in all at once. "Welcome!" "Three coffees!" "Are the sandwiches ready yet?" "This place is great, isn't it?" Everyone's eyes were glittering. Their pupils were strangely dilated, unfocused. Mayu just stood there, frozen. That day, they sold three times the usual amount. But many strange things happened. A man who ordered the same menu over and over. A woman who ate nothing, just sat there laughing. And people who, the moment they stepped out of the shop, returned to vacant expressions, as if their batteries had run out. (*This is wrong. It's absolutely wrong.*) Somewhere in Mayu's head, an alarm kept ringing. But she looked at the money inside the register. This much. This much money. Maybe she could pay back the debt. Maybe she could keep the shop going. She crushed the sense of wrongness down. And then, she looked at her smartphone once more. The *Tsukinomiya* app was flickering. The light was a little stronger than before. Inside her phone, the app quietly began to synchronize with the beating of Mayu's heart. In a small café, in a peaceful Tokyo neighborhood, something had irrevocably begun to move. And no one had noticed yet.